PABO Ch 18

Yicha Hyeok’s residence was a U-shaped hanok compound with its own private garden. To the left were a study and a wide wooden porch, to the right a bedroom, and at the center a living room. Unlike other Muhwa, his quarters included not only a laundry room but also a large kitchen and a clean, well-equipped fitness room—truly a perfect standalone residence. He had no need to mind the Saongwon^[1], which handled palace cuisine, nor the Sedaebang^[2] used as the laundry, nor any other household that managed palace affairs.

Even with Muhwa, whom he had known closely for a long time, Yicha Hyeok rarely invited anyone into his residence. Younger Muhwa would peek over the wall whenever they passed nearby, but even that proved futile. Unlike the papered doors that could be punctured with a spit-wet finger, all the windows of Yicha Hyeok’s residence were fitted with opaque glass. No one could see inside.

Though this stirred jealousy, no one voiced serious complaints. Yicha Hyeok’s privacy was effectively the Emperor’s privacy; the better protected his residence was, the more comfortably the Emperor—who frequently set foot there—could come and go.

Today as well, the Emperor came to his quarters. He was dressed in formal attire, with a belt modeled after a jade belt fastened around his waist; jade beads were strung along the ornament, producing a pleasing sound with every step he took. Unconcerned with the gazes of those passing by—indeed, as if inviting them to look more closely—the Emperor walked with unhurried ease. Behind him followed one guard and two attendants. In the attendants’ hands was a beautiful set of ceremonial robes.

Whenever he sought out Yicha Hyeok, the Emperor always came bearing gifts. Every one of them was filled with deep affection and intent. The round-collared robe was dyed a vivid balsam red, immediately drawing the eye; the small branches and golden egg embroidery stitched along the wide sleeve hems were especially beautiful. It seemed to suggest that, before long, he would bestow a garment adorned with the Five-Clawed Dragon insignia and phoenix motifs.

Watching this, the Muhwas pressed at their chests. How could he receive such bright, unwavering favor? Envy burned their insides. It would not have been strange if Yicha Hyeok soon grew out his hair and donned a ceremonial headdress.

The moment the Emperor passed the wall and crossed the threshold, he went straight to the living room without a word. He dropped onto the wide sofa with a thud and yawned, mouth stretched wide.

The silent attendants hung the gift they had brought on a clothes rack and withdrew. The guard likewise bowed deeply in farewell before leaving. As they did, they exchanged knowing glances with one another. It seemed the rumors they had heard were true. The interior of Yicha Hyeok’s quarters was indeed filled with lavish and costly decorations, splendid enough to convey an ambition aimed at the position of empress.

Yet the master of the residence was nowhere to be seen, leaving the Emperor alone in a splendid living room of silver, gold, and jade. The Emperor appeared unbothered; he took out a tablet PC he had brought. As if it were only natural, he pulled the charger at his feet and plugged it in. Then he tossed both legs onto a stool and tapped the screen in a relaxed posture.

Displayed on the screen were the final candidates for outfits to be worn at official events. Each photo listed the brand and designer, along with the meaning and value of the motifs embroidered on the garments. With a single flick of the Emperor’s finger, fortunes rose or fell between designers chosen and those passed over.

The great Muhwa, who enjoyed the Emperor’s singular favor, Yicha Hyeok, emerged only after ten or so minutes, strolling out at an unhurried pace. He wore a beige sweatshirt and fluffy sleep pants, a towel draped around his neck. Water dripped from his wet hair as he approached, and the Emperor tossed a brown document envelope he had brought onto the sofa table.

Having gone to the trouble of visiting, yet remaining wholly absorbed in his work, the Emperor was treated like an afterthought—and in that regard, Yicha Hyeok was no different. He had little interest in the Emperor himself. What pleased him far more was the document envelope the Emperor had tossed his way. He promptly picked it up and briskly seated himself in the massage chair. Sliding both legs snugly into the slots adjusted to the length of his calves, he started the lower-body massage, and the machine whirred to life with a soft mechanical noise.

“Hey. That’s too loud,” the Emperor said.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty, is this truly the manuscript for volume five?”

Yicha Hyeok shot back. He was already reading the first paragraph of the first page of the freshly printed manuscript paper.

“The protagonist’s name is different. Didn’t you bring the wrong one?”

“Read it first, then talk. The author sent it personally—why would it be wrong?”

Yicha Hyeok cast the Emperor a suspicious look. His disgruntled expression softened as he turned the third A4 page. From the moment the familiar detective burst onto the crime scene, the story became engrossing.

Yicha Hyeok loved writing enough to have built a private study in his residence. Among all genres, he favored twist-laden mysteries, so much so that he could not patiently wait for new releases. To placate Yicha Hyeok, who complained every time they met that he was bored to death, the Emperor had brought the draft manuscript of that author’s new work from his office. From the Emperor’s perspective, all it required was jotting down a single line of endorsement to be printed on the book band, but for Yicha Hyeok, it was a delight that would let him pass the remaining month in high spirits.

“Come to think of it, Your Majesty, I heard you’ve been busy lately, running around here and there?”

Yicha Hyeok muttered. It was a casual question, stripped of formality. Even when the Emperor pretended not to hear, eyes lowered as he swiped the tablet screen, Yicha Hyeok raised his voice.

“Your Majesty?”

“…”

“Hyung.”

“…”

“Hyung. Beomie-hyung!”

“Ah, what?!”

The Emperor, Yirim Beom, frowned. When Yicha Hyeok—only a year younger—addressed him as “hyung” or “Beomie-hyung,” it was best for both of them to answer quickly. Ignoring him did no good; Yicha Hyeok would keep chanting hyung, Beomie-hyung, beombeoreumbeom until he got a response.

“I heard you’ve been stopping by the loophole a lot lately.”

At those words, Yirim Beom’s head snapped around. For the first time since entering, he looked directly at Yicha Hyeok, lifting one eyebrow.

“Who said that?”

He searched his memory, wondering if someone had been watching his movements. Whenever he visited the “loophole,” he dismissed his security detail and took a deserted shortcut—so, how such a rumor could have spread puzzled him.

At Yirim Beom’s sharp reaction, Yicha Hyeok smiled.

“Guess it’s true.”

“I asked who said it.”

“Actually, I lied. But it looks like my guess was right.”

The light reply, pitched half a tone higher, drew a sharp exhale from Yirim Beom. The crease between his dark brows did not ease. The sudden mention of the loophole had clearly struck a nerve.

Yirim Beom’s unguarded reaction gave Yicha Hyeok plenty of clues. Scratching his chin with the corner of the manuscript, Yicha Hyeok rolled his eyes. He had known this would happen. The moment he first saw Haryeon Sol’s face, he had known instinctively. If Yirim Beom saw him, he would claim him without hesitation—the Muhwa who would receive the Emperor’s true favor.

Yicha Hyeok recalled Haryeon Sol leaning on the window frame at dawn. With messy hair and half-open eyes heavy with sleep, Haryeon Sol had been hoping that someone other than Yicha Hyeok would come looking for him. Judging by his easy smile and lighthearted manner, that someone did not seem to be the Emperor.

‘Or perhaps he simply had not yet realized that it was the Emperor.’

That baby-faced, guileless Muhwa carefully cherished a single small bottle. Saying it was medicine that could cure the symptoms of Flowering sickness, he happily held it out as though eager to share the information with Yicha Hyeok. The hand holding it—small, marked with minor cuts, scars, and calluses—was small, and in the bottle resting on its palm was nothing more than an all-too-common saline solution.

The moment he saw the bottle, Yicha Hyeok knew. The only person who could deceive Haryeon Sol with such an absurd lie and secretly heal his eyes was the Emperor, Yirim Beom.

Yet the problem was that this very Yirim Beom, despite visiting me every few days, never once uttered even the initial consonant of Haryeon Sol’s name. Until now, there had never been anything resembling a secret between the two of them.

‘It did not sit right with me.’

Yicha Hyeok looked Yirim Beom up and down on the sofa. Though often dubbed “the well-dressed Emperor” in domestic and international news, Yirim Beom’s clothing was not particularly different or novel compared to previous Emperors. The difference lay in the exceptional frame that wore it, making clothes seem to melt into his skin. Possessing such a face yet remaining taciturn and devoted solely to work was irritating in its own way. That silence proved the meetings with Haryeon Sol were not a one-off.

Judging by the way he seemed wary that word might spread among the other Muhwa who came and went through Munjeong Palace, it was clear that Haryeon Sol had greatly caught his favor. If he did not cherish him, there would be no reason to worry. His concern was fervent—that groundless rumors might circulate, turning Haryeon Sol into an object of jealousy and bringing him harm.

“I found him first… but it looks like you’ve gotten closer, Your Majesty,” Yicha Hyeok muttered softly, sinking back into the massage chair.

TL’s Note

Here’s Jade belt